


Bon appétit!

by capitalistrodent



Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula (TV 2020), Dracula - Bram Stoker
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bookshop Owner!Agatha/Zoe, Bookstores, Everybody Lives, F/M, Gen, Mutual Pining, Nightclub Owner!Dracula, Sexual Tension, Snark, Tension, also y'all know what this means, anyways this is A Hot Mess, in a murderous sort of way, yeah I'm merging their characters together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:53:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22868173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capitalistrodent/pseuds/capitalistrodent
Summary: Count Dracula firmly believes that there are only three things needed to live a good, full life: great food, great alcohol, and great sex. There’s never been a reason to think otherwise; he's sworn by this creed for the longest time and life is great and business has never been better. There's only one teeny-tiny problem, though, and it's in the form of that blasted bookshop owner across the street who seems to have made it her mission to rain on his glorious hedonistic parade.After an honorable and decorated military career, Dr. Agatha Van Helsing just wants to live out the rest of her days in peace and comfort, surrounded by her army of books and chipped teacup collection. Her quaint little bookshop in the center of the bustling metropolis is a haven—herhaven— and she has fought off and won against many a shady businessman who wanted to bully her out and turn it into the tenth circle of hell. But a new nightclub is coming to town— more specifically, right across the street— and with it comes her greatest adversary yet.This won't end well... right?
Relationships: Dracula & Agatha Van Helsing, Dracula & Zoe Van Helsing, Dracula/Agatha Van Helsing, Dracula/Zoe Van Helsing, Jonathan Harker/Mina Harker, Jonathan Harker/Mina Murray
Comments: 89
Kudos: 105





	1. The Businessman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This started out as a little writing exercise to get into the groove of continuing my other sorely neglected fics, but I'm in Dracula hell right now and I need to let some steam out! I wrote this for myself (I haven't written anything in two years and I'm rusty) and all mistakes are mine, and I have minimal knowledge about Dracula lore and such, but you're more than welcome to join me for the bumpy ride.

Frank Renfield knew he wasn't the smartest tool in the shed— his father and brother had made multiple creatively sick variations on that theme during his formative years— but he couldn't really seem to care. In fact, he felt pretty bloody marvelous. Because when all was said and done, they're the ones buried six feet under in maggots and dirt and he was the one standing in the center of it all, acting as the Count's right-hand man. He wasn't a big thinker, but he was adaptable. A survivor.

Balaur Holdings had been in business for more than a century, and the Renfield family firm had been serving their interests for just as long. It started out with the management of Castle Dracula and their other estates, and as the nobility were wont to do it gradually expanded into real estate accumulation. At the turn of the millennium, when the formidable patriarch had died and the title was passed on, BH had decided to venture into new territory: bars and nightlife. A line of business quite suited to the new Count.

 _Speak of the devil,_ Renfield mused as he threw open the double oak doors to the Count's bedroom in his new luxury penthouse— the shining new jewel of Balaur Holdings' real estate development, of course. He was here to deliver the daily morning business report which, quite frankly, was tedious and useless due to two main reasons. One, since the Count was the farthest thing from a morning person, his brain wasn't operating on maximum capacity and therefore information retention was very low. Renfield often had to repeat things at least thrice in order to get through to him. But it was the better option than having to deliver reports at night, because even though that was when the Count was truly alive and at his best, his... nocturnal carousing meant his blood flow went to his nether regions rather than up where Renfield really needed it to be.

The second reason was because of said _nocturnal carousing,_ Renfield almost always walked in on him and his flavor of the night in the early morning hours. This morning he got lucky; Miss Tuesday Night was merely draped over the Count in bed while he stroked her bare legs like a pussycat. They must have just finished their morning aerobics, then. Or were they just about to start?

Renfield shook his head as he stood at the foot of the bed. No time to waste. The sooner he finished his report the sooner he could walk out of here and off to make more money.

"Good morning, Count Dracula. And Miss—" he started, but cut himself off as another perfect human specimen came out of the en suite bathroom, naked as the day he was born. He walked sultrily to the bed and gave a slack-jawed Renfield a saucy wink before settling himself on Dracula's other side, gently pawing at his chest hair.

_Wow. Must have been one hell of a Tuesday night._

"— and Mister." Dracula finished lazily, still occupied with his _pets._ "Yes, Renfield. It would've been a good morning indeed if you hadn't interrupted."

"My apologies, sir. I am merely here to give you the daily update."

Dracula still didn't look at his lawyer. Dorabella, or whatever her name was, was very deliberately grinding on his cock, and naughty little Lord Ruthven (Ruben? Robin? he couldn't remember either) was nipping insistently at his jaw. He decided to just get the tedious little chore over with so he could go back to more interesting activities and be free of Renfield's rodent-like features. It wasn't doing any wonders for his mood.

"All right, get on with it then. Though I doubt much has changed since yesterday morning."

Renfield was relieved he could finally go on. He clicked on his iPad and read off from his list. "You are mostly correct, sir. BH stock has been doing very well on the market ever since that little scandal rocked Grosvenor, the board has no complaints or demands so far, restorations on Castle Dracula are ahead of schedule by two weeks, meaning it would be ready in time for the Wallachian Midsummer Festival, so much revenue to be had.."

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes and fall asleep, Dracula gave a little sigh. It wasn't that he didn't care about the business; on the contrary, it's his life's work and was very much invested in its success. But the older Balaur ventures weren't what interested him. Land was one of the few things that appreciated with time, that wasn't going to change anytime soon, and that was something that he had in abundance. Unless the ground opened up underneath and swallowed all of his properties, there wasn't much to talk about. No, he was far more interested in his brain children.

"Renfield. _Renfield!_ " he called out louder in order to stop the man from his rambling. "Enough about those. What of the clubs?"

"Ah yes, the clubs," Renfield echoed, pushing his glasses up his nose and scrolling to the bottom part of the page. "All is going well in Paris. _Suckle_ ’s new social media marketing campaign really paid off and we've been bursting at full capacity every night. We might even have to plan expansions soon. There was a brawl outside last weekend, but French police handled it and no damage was done to club property or reputation."

For the first time that morning, Dracula smiled. _Suckle_ was his first nightclub, and thus would always have a special place in his proverbial heart. It was also his first solo venture in the family business after years of toiling in estate management, and was sort of a giant middle finger to his old man, Devil rest his soul. He was a creature of the night, of earthly vice, and building establishments after his own image was like a drug. It fed on his god complex, sure, but the thrill of luring young, uninhibited, fabulously moneyed socialites into his den was exhilarating. Such pretty, unhinged additions they made to his collection. And Dracula was nothing if not a connoisseur of all things fine and beautiful.

"Excellent. And how goes it with my new darling?"

By "new darling" he meant his second nightclub venture, soon to be established here in his city. Many wondered why he didn't put up his first club on home soil, but that was mainly due to his father's insistence. _If it fails, which it most likely will, then I want it far away from the British Isles. Do it if you must, but keep the filth away from the family business,_ the old geezer said. Well, it didn't fail, and now he could do as he pleased. The Count is dead, long live the Count!

Renfield tried valiantly to power through, but Dracula wasn't stupid. He saw the slight hesitation and sat up straighter in bed, his pets now forgotten. "What is it?"

"There is no problem with _Hedo_ per se, sir," Renfield said slowly, eyeing the Count carefully. "Building inspections are done and approved and we are still set to open this Saturday. Liquor license is spotless, sanitation is the closest to godliness."

"Then what is the bloody problem, then?"

"Well," Renfield cleared his throat, "it's not the club, as I said. It's the block. We basically own the city center, and the commercial and residential spaces around _Hedo_... except for the establishment right across." His lip curled as he said "establishment," as if what he was pertaining to wasn't worthy of the word.

Now he had Dracula's full attention. Not so gently pushing away his lovers, he got up from the bed and grabbed his robe that was draped haphazardly on the nearby chaise. Even with his hair askew and his robe loosely tied at the waist, he looked positively feral and murderous. Renfield instinctively took a step back and clutched his iPad to his chest to use as some sort of shield. Not that it was going to be of any help.

"Do you mean to tell me that you haven't taken care of that _little_ problem yet?" Dracula said, voice low and menacing, as he slowly advanced to where Renfield stood. Miss and Mister Tuesday Night sat dumbfounded on the bed, partly turned on by the sudden shift in their patron's mood, but mostly terrified and a hair's breadth away from cowering into the thousand thread count sheets.

"I...I..." Renfield stumbled over his words. Oh, if his laundry list of speech therapists could hear him now, they would throw more than apples at his head. "They were much more resilient than we thought. They—"

"Than _you_ thought, you mean," Dracula growled. "You assured me they'd be out of sight and out of mind by the time construction started. We are about to open in _three fucking days,_ Renfield! How do you think that's going to look?" He clenched his right fist around a bedpost, fighting the urge to chuck Renfield out of the goddamn window. Maybe he should, useless git that he was. But he still had some sense and finding a new lawyer was going to be a major pain in the ass. He was going to have to tough this out.

"I apologize, sir. I truly do. But their claim is airtight; there's no going around the land title. They've owned that piece of land long before the Dracula family had acquired the surrounding areas. And they—"

"' _T_ _hey'_ is a bunch of women! Are you seriously telling me that Balaur Holdings can't fight off a...a—" Dracula punched the bedpost in frustration as he searched for a suitable word to use to describe the walking headaches, startling the two people on the bed that he had all but forgotten about already, "—a goddamn _convent?_ "

"We've tried everything, sir, believe me. Money, offers of relocation, the entire package. But she doesn't want any of it."

"She?"

"Yes, sir. The Van Helsings have owned that land and the bookshop for generations, and it is now under the ownership of the last living descendant, Agatha Van Helsing. I've spearheaded the negotiations myself. A most peculiar and headstrong woman..."

Dracula was still livid, but he took a deep breath to regroup. A woman. His obstacle and the owner of that eyesore that was about to ruin his plans was a woman. Things might not be as difficult as it seemed after all.

For if there was a subject matter that he could be considered an expert in, aside from gastronomic and nightlife pursuits, it was women. Or on a broader scale, the art of wooing and manipulation.

The sudden change in mood confounded the three other people in the room. The Count calmly walked to the decanter near the door and poured himself three generous fingers which he downed quickly and smoothly in one go. Then he set the glass down and without even looking, ordered, "You two. Get out."

Mister and Miss Tuesday Night looked at each other, then back at Dracula, laughing nervously. "Come on, darling, we haven't finished our fun yet," Mister Tuesday Night said.

Dracula still didn't turn and, before drinking the next two fingers in his glass, bit out with a hint of a snarl, "Don't make me ask again. I said: _Get. Out!"_

Not attempting to push their luck anymore, the two scrambled out of bed without even bothering to look for their clothes and whipped past Renfield and out the doors. Renfield almost felt pity for his patron's latest victims.

_Almost._

Now that they were alone, Dracula turned to fully face Renfield. Gone was the fun-loving casanova; in his place now stood the ruthless, calculating businessman.

"It's not entirely unsalvageable. They might not be kicked out in time for the opening, but they _will_ be out eventually. They don't want money, you say? Well, it's a matter of figuring out what it is they do want, then."

Relieved that no bodily harm would seem to come to him today, Renfield started typing on his iPad to get to work. "Yes, sir. I'll get right on it."

"No."

Renfield paused and looked up in confusion. "I... beg your pardon, sir?"

Dracula poured more into his glass and leisurely took a seat on the chaise, crossing his legs. His robe was completely untied now but he didn't seem to care. He smirked as he brought his glass to his lips and mouthed, " _No."_

Renfield didn't know what he was on about and didn't know how to respond either, so he opted to remain silent and wait. Dracula took his time to finish his drink before setting the glass down and resting one arm across the back of the chaise. He was smiling now, his pronounced incisors gleaming in the sunlight.

"No, Renfield, you won't be handling this any longer. I've tired of your incompetence and won't risk you sabotaging this any more than you already have. Understood?"

Renfield knew better than to object. He swallowed and inclined his head respectfully, obeying the Count's orders.

Dracula turned his head to his floor-to-ceiling windows, admiring the clear skies. That better be good omen for what was to come. He absolutely _detested_ failure.

A last living descendant? He would make sure that blasted bookshop died along with that family name.

"This problem has gone on for far too long. Therefore, there really is only one solution: I'm handling this myself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drac's done, now Agatha's next! I have so many fun scenarios for these two, but I don't want to commit into a multichapter fic (again). I also wanna do edits for these on Tumblr but I'm shit lmao. Let me know if you enjoyed it and want more, though, and I'll see if I can cook up some more! ;)


	2. The Third Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is known.
> 
> For every narcissistic nightclub owner, there is an equal and opposite... bookshop owner/army vet/professor...?

It wasn't her alarm that woke her.

"Ugh, fuck me." Her hand shot up lamely to grab her phone from the nightstand, and her groggy voice was muffled by the pillow she had over her head. She took a peek at her phone to check the time; it was only 6:58 on a supposedly blessedly relaxed Wednesday morning. Fighting the urge to throw her phone like a missile out the window in hopes of hitting the head of whoever was in charge of the thrice-damned ruckus outside, she clutched her pillow over head tighter. She might have screamed her lungs out in frustration too, but even she wasn't sure with all that noise.

Dr. Agatha Van Helsing was, for the most part, pretty chill, as her millennial students so eloquently put it nowadays. It might have been due to the fact that she'd always been stuck in between options and eventually got tired of stressing the smaller things and just opted to go with the flow. She was taller than most women— tall enough to be a model, in fact— but was, as one kindly old lady who was judging an amateur pageant in her high school years ago said, 'all elbows and no tits.' Had she been born a few decades later her figure might have finally been considered The Shit _,_ but of course it was just part of her continuing luck.

Her family was quasi-religious and she briefly toyed with idea of becoming a nun, even going so far as doing a trial as an initiate one summer when all her peers were busy doing internships for university or getting their first sexually-transmitted disease in some dank alleyway, but was eventually deemed too free-spirited and outspoken to spend the rest of her life as a woman of the cloth. That also might have been the reason why she didn't watch _The Sound of Music_ anymore; it reminded her too much of the fact that she was basically Maria with the awkwardly-fitted clothes, but without the angelic voice and the hot naval captain who would come and whisk her away into a blissful romantic life. And so the disappointed nun, graduating with a double first in degrees that would lock her away in academic purgatory for the rest of her days, sought to find excitement and purpose elsewhere.

To say that her mother was apoplectic with rage and despair when she announced her decision to join the Army was an understatement. After about twelve fainting spells a day in the week that followed— which, for a formidable woman like Elizabeth Van Helsing, was unheard of— the wordless cries turned into heated screaming matches; the sounds that filled the household were from a broken record that played the greatest hits _Why waste a perfectly good education just to get blown up halfway across the world?_ and _Whatever happened to pacifism? How does one go from nuns to guns?,_ with the bonus track of _Agatha Van Helsing, if you go through with this we will cut you off, you hear me?!_ _We're serious!_

Agatha mostly stayed quiet and let her mother rage on, knowing it was coming from a place of love and that her mother didn't really mean it. Well, most of it. A few times, though, she couldn't help but answer back, and said she never was a pacifist and would've made a terrible nun, and that they couldn't really cut her off the will because she was the only child they had left. The moment those last words left her mouth, she instantly regretted it; the ashen look on her mother's face before she ran from the room and the disapproval on her father's eyes, who had silently let his two women duke it out until then, let her know that she had crossed a line. Her twin brother's death was a topic actively _not_ discussed in the Van Helsing household, and for her to toss it out there like it was nothing was uncalled for. She tried to go after her mother, but her father gently held her back and sat her down on their ancient dining table.

Abraham Van Helsing was a man of few words, so when he spoke Agatha knew to listen. She wasn't surprised that he didn't voice any objections like her mother did because he was a former military man himself and knew what she was going through. It was their conversation that evening that she always went back to whenever she needed strength.

_"I always knew it was you who would most likely follow in my footsteps. Doesn't mean I like it, though," Abraham said, smiling sadly at his daughter._

_"I know, Dad, but I have to do this."_

_"Why?"_

_"Well... because..." Agatha fidgeted with her hands, suddenly at a loss for words. She was so sure of her reasons why before she came out with it to her parents, but now that her father was asking her a very reasonable question, she was drawing a blank. Which, of course, only served to fuel her own anxiety about her decision which she was admittedly not a hundred percent sure about in the first place._

_Abraham sighed and put a steadying hand over hers. "Look, whatever your reason is, you're old enough to decide for yourself. Just..." his breath hitched and Agatha looked at him with concern. "...just promise me— us, one thing."_

_She squeezed his hand tightly. "Anything."_

_"Pride. Always with pride and honor. You go into this with the pride and honor of a Van Helsing, and when you decide that you've finally had enough, you walk away with those intact."_

_Agatha straightened, a new purpose filling her veins. Probably the most purpose she had ever had in her short life. "Yes, dad. I promise."_

_"Good. Actually, there's one more thing."_

_"Yes?"_

_"Come back to us. Please. Your mother and I... we cannot lose you too. Not after— not you too."_

_Abraham turned to his daughter and put his hands on either side of her face. Agatha's tears finally broke free when she saw a single track run down his cheek._

That was only one of the three times she ever saw her father cry; the first was when they buried her brother, that moment in their living room when he gave her his blessing, and when she finally came home from her last tour mostly safe and sound.

_"Don't worry, Dad, you won't see the last of me just yet. I promise."_

Agatha smiled to herself and she felt for the silver cross pendant on her neck, the only piece of jewelry she had ever bothered to wear. It was given to her by her mother when she graduated from the academy. By then, the animosity was gone and a mother's love prevailed, and she was sent off with only declarations of love and hot home-cooked meals with all her favorites when she got back. It was that promise she made that got her through four tours in Afghanistan, and the one that made her sink her claws to life when she almost didn't come back from the last one.

Realizing that she wouldn't be able to go back to sleep anymore, she finally crawled out of bed and did her morning stretches. She had the urge to feel and inspect the scar on her left hip that trailed down to her upper thigh, but she resisted; she was not in the mood to relive the circumstances of how she got that souvenir. After taking a quick shower, she fixed herself some toast and an Earl Grey in one of her quirky little teacups. It took her about two minutes to choose from her collection; she had three glass cabinets full, and she didn't know exactly how many she had because she stopped counting after two hundred. No two cups were the same, with the designs ranging from sophisticated china to a faded Spongebob in a graphic pose, but they all had one similarity: they were all chipped in some way. She knew some of them were useless already and should probably be thrown out, but she didn't have the heart to. She loved those little broken babies just as much as she loved her books.

Speaking of books, she checked her kitchen clock and figured it was time to go down to the bookshop which was due to open in thirty minutes. It was a big advantage of having her flat right above her place of work; she never ran late, which was great because she absolutely hated tardiness. Taking the two flights of stairs to get to the main floor, she was surprised to see her co-workers already there doing the pre-opening prep.

"Well, hello there, sleeping beauty!" Lucy Westenra greeted from her station, stacking the newly arrived vampire-werewolf teeny-bopper romance novels near the entrance. When she finished putting up the last book, though, she made a funny scrunched up expression on her gorgeous face. "Actually, I'm gonna have to take that back. Sorry, Ags, but you look fucking awful. Like you slept in a garbage chute and it spit you out. Or a truck hit you, turned back, and ran you over again. Or—"

"Thanks, Lucy, I get it," Agatha bit out. 

"Bit harsh for a fine morning, aren't ya, Luce?" Bloxham, the assistant manager who preferred to go by just her last name— and whose first name Agatha never would've known if she wasn't the boss and had copies of all their identification and credentials— said as she turned from an aisle to meet them near the entrance, her nose buried in her tablet while taking note of inventory. When she finally looked up to see what was going on, she added, "Oh. Wow. You really do look like shit, Ags."

"Thanks for the input, Blox. Really needed that." Agatha glared daggers at her second, who only shrugged. "Any other things you two want to get off your chests before we start today?"

"Well, actually—" Lucy started, before the front door bell rang and a harried Mina Murray rushed in. She smiled at them in greeting before opening the door again and snogging her fiancé soundly... again. At least Jonathan had the good sense to look embarrassed for the both of them, but that went away quickly, as all other thoughts in his brain did, when Mina stuck her tongue down his throat. Lucy kept making lewd gestures to the loved-up couple from the other side of the window while the two older women listened to the ticking of the clock while waiting for the softcore porno outside to end.

 _Fucking finally,_ Agatha thought, as Jonathan was finally able to wrestle Mina off of him and ushered her inside and bade them all a good morning and goodbye before rushing off to work. The poor girl was about to run outside again to go after him if it weren't for Bloxham who pulled her towards their team meeting, and only then did she finally seem to come to her senses.

"Er, sorry about that, girls. Got a little carried away again!" Mina said in a voice too chipper for the early hour. Sometimes they couldn't understand why she would work in a bookshop when she was an heiress who could live off of her daddy's stacks of cheddar for the rest of her days, but she reasoned that even a girl like her needed something useful to do. Besides, she said, she thought working in a bookshop would make her smarter so she could at least try and keep up with her bookish lawyer beau. Her types usually drove Agatha nuts, but Mina was a genuinely sweet girl and loved the bookshop as much as they all did. They were all family in here.

That didn't stop Mina from faltering in her saccharine smile once she saw Agatha, though. Agatha noticed and raised an eyebrow, daring her to say something. "Yes, Mina?"

At least the girl had the decency to look sheepish. It must have been her genteel upbringing. "Um, nothing, Agatha. You look great this morning!" she added unconvincingly.

"It's okay, you can come out and say it: she looks like she woke up on the wrong side of the coffin," Lucy said with a grin.

"Uh..."

"How about we all take a page from Mina's book and shut up if we have nothing else nice to say, hm?" Agatha crossed her arms and stared them down, to which they all responded with only a giggle. Rolling her eyes, she continued, "All right, anything to discuss before we open for today?"

Bloxham started first. "We've got about three shipments due to come this week, all modern young adult novels, so that should hopefully improve foot traffic. Apparently it's all the rage nowadays, Christ knows why."

"Sex sells, Blox. That's why," Lucy answered in a bored tone, checking her new manicure for chips. "If you look at that inventory of yours, you'll see that _50 Shades_ is the one paying the overhead bills."

"Oh yes, I know that one," Mina added her two cents. "Actually, just last night, Johnny and I—"

"Okay, next," Agatha cut in before she said something that would ruin her morning further. To be perfectly honest, she gave the book a try; a good number of older ladies she met in the shop recommended it to her to add some "spice in her life," which was really just old woman speak for _You Need to Get Laid ASAP!_ She managed to get past the first sex scene and an experimental rub on her nub before disappointedly returning the book back to the shop. She got more thrills from reading the Bible than that drivel.

Lucy raised her hand. "I was hoping to get Saturday afternoon off, if you don't mind."

"Why?"

Lucy looked at Agatha like she was from another planet. "Uh, duh? The hottest nightclub ever will be opening that night!"

"You mean the one across the street that's closed off the road for months with their construction activities and cut our sales in almost half?" Bloxham replied hotly.

"Or the one that's been trying to buy me off this property? You know, the one where the bookshop stands? The bookshop _you work at?_ " Agatha said, her voice raising uncontrollably. Lucy gave the least fucks known to mankind, but boy, was this a real low.

"Whoa guys, take a chill pill, all right?" Lucy raised her hands up in surrender. "You all know how much I love a good spot of fun, and word on the street is that _Hedo_ 's gonna be the nightclub to end all nightclubs. Can't a girl have some fun?" She added a pout that would have been considered cute by anyone else, but not by Agatha. Especially not right now.

Lucy and Bloxham continued to argue about the conflicting virtues of supporting an establishment that was trying to off one's own source of livelihood. Agatha, on the other hand, was pinching the bridge of her nose in an effort to ward off the migraine that was about to erupt. The damned nightclub had been a pain in her ass ever since its conception, and now that it was about to open she doubted that things would get easier. If anything, they'd be even more earnest in their efforts to kick her out.

She'd lost count of the amount of offers she'd received to give up her coveted spot in the city center. Perhaps, if she were a more reasonable woman, she would have taken the latest offer from that rodent man whose manners only confirmed that he had been raised in the sewers. His offer was more than generous, really; it was five times the value of the land and the bookshop and all the material things she had ever owned. She never would have had to worry about comfort again, and wouldn't have to stress about running a business that was nearly on the brink.

But what she was carrying and representing was more than just herself. No, she was the last living descendant of the Van Helsing family and it was her duty to uphold the name to the end of her days. Not only because of duty, but also because of genuine love for her family. This was where she was raised, where her love of learning had been ignited, where some of her happiest memories with her family were set. It was also home to the saddest one, but that only made her cling on to it even more. This was more than just her flat and her business; this was her _life,_ and no heartless capitalist pig would get their hands on it if she had her way. Over her dead fucking body.

Pride and honor. That's what her father told her. And she intended to be true to her word.

Agatha continued to devise increasingly creative ways on how to keep the bastards out of her property when she felt a gentle hand on her arm. She turned and saw Mina looking at her with concern etched deep into her features. It was a heartbreaking sight.

"Hey Agatha," she whispered gently. "Everything okay?"

"I'm fine. Just thinking."

"It's about the bookshop, isn't it?" Maybe she should give Mina some more credit; the girl really was smarter than she looked. "Are we in trouble?"

"No, no we're not in trouble." Agatha patted her hand, and hoped that what was on her face was a passable convincing smile. "Okay, maybe a little bit, but nothing I haven't encountered before. We'll be fine."

"Are you sure? I've told you lots of times before. I could really help, you know?"

"No, Mina. I don't need your money."

"It doesn't even have to be an investment. Just think of it as a lost bag of cash. Or we could start small, if you want. You don't really have to pay me a salary."

Agatha squeezed her eyes shut and breathed deeply through her nose. Mina's suggestions were seriously grating on her already wounded pride, but she refused to take it out on the girl. She truly meant well and it would be unfair to hold it against her.

She squeezed Mina's hand and looked her straight in the eye. "Mina Murray, you are my employee and therefore under my care. You will be treated the same as anyone under my care, and will receive the same deserved compensation. Got it?"

Mina looked like she was about to protest further, but she surprisingly held it in and nodded and smiled instead. "Whatever you say, Agatha. You're the boss lady."

Agatha smiled in spite of herself. "Damn right." She clapped her hands to get the attention of her two other colleagues, who were still locked in an argument. "Okay, ladies. Time to get to work."

"But you haven't even given me an answer yet," Lucy protested.

Agatha sighed and said, "We'll see how the week goes and then we'll revisit the topic, okay Luce?"

"Okay, okay. But I'm never gonna shut up about it until you say yes!"

"I'm sure," Agatha muttered under her breath as she went over to the front door to flip the sign.

It's finally eight o'clock in the morning. Showtime.

She could still hear the drilling and the pounding from across the street and tried not to let it get to her. She had a whole day to get through and she had to redirect her energy into actively getting customers instead of stressing about the competition. Easier said than done, of course.

An hour had passed and only two customers had dropped by, both of them regulars. Lucy was filing her nails behind the cash register. Mina was somewhere in the aisles singing the latest Lady Gaga single. Bloxham was still on her tablet, but Agatha was sure it wasn't the inventory she was focused on judging by the telltale smile of someone reading smut on her face. Agatha tried to busy herself by rearranging the already pristine stacks of books, checking for non-existent dust, and whatever else she could get her hands on. She was just about to get some mid-morning tea when the bell rang again, signalling the arrival of a new customer.

Putting on her best service-with-a-smile smile, she turned around to greet the person but the words got stuck in her throat. Lucy stopped filing her nails and not-so-silently whispered, _“Holy. Fucking. Shit.”_ Bloxham looked up from her literary porn and her jaw dropped, looking like the man from her stories suddenly manifested right in front of her.

Truth be told, it wasn't his face that Agatha saw first. What she saw were loafers and slim fit pants, a nicely toned chest with some very attractive fur peeking out, covered by a crisp, fitted white button-down shirt that was complimented by a very well-tailored black suit jacket. A classic and very expensive-looking slim navy cashmere scarf was hung over deliciously broad shoulders. She had to look up quite a stretch, in fact, because the man was just so fucking _big and tall._ Two day-old stubble covered a square jaw, and atop were some nice cheekbones and a prominent straight nose. Even further up were artfully-tousled slicked-back hair and molten chocolate brown eyes that swept over the space of the bookshop critically before settling on her.

She was breaking her number one rule of business: greet the customer.

But _fuck_ if she wasn't dumb and mute. He was probably the most beautiful man she had ever seen.

That was, until he opened his mouth, flashing what could only be described as fangs.

"Hello. I've been _dying_ to meet you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray kiddies! Second chapter is done and dusted. I intended for this to be just a two part thing but I'm very much NOT averse to the idea of continuing this à la one-shot anthology series. If you're still interested, let me know and just bookmark and/or subscribe!
> 
> Would need bribes and encouragement, though, so please, feed this poor amateur with feedback (even if negative) and the occasional _ranibow sprimkle_ of unintelligible screaming.


End file.
